


Settle Down (It'll All Be Clear)

by callmechristinae



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brief Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, background Scott/Kira, offscreen Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he had been sitting on the floor of the police station, propped up against a desk with a wound from an Oni's blade burning in his abdomen, Deputy Parrish had made himself a promise.  He wouldn't leave the protection of this town up to a group of inexperienced teenagers, a brooding former Alpha, and some emotionally compromised parents ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Settle Down (It'll All Be Clear)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Home" by Phillip Phillips

When he had been sitting on the floor of the police station, propped up against a desk with a wound from an Oni's blade burning in his abdomen, Deputy Parrish had made himself a promise. He wouldn't leave the protection of this town up to a group of inexperienced teenagers, a brooding former Alpha, and some emotionally compromised parents ever again.

Even as he fell to the forest floor with an iron blade plunged into his chest, he didn't regret that decision.

***

Growing up for him hadn't been much different than average. His parents were a little on the hippy side, but that didn't stand out much in their brightly colored San Francisco neighborhood. They had an American flag on the front door and a three legged dog they'd rescued from the local shelter. He woke up early so his dad could drop him at school before heading down to the fire station, then after school his mom picked him up to go home in between shifts as a Park Ranger in Golden Gate Park.

One of his earliest memories was sitting with his dad in the upper deck of Candlestick Park. He'd munched on a hot dog, getting ketchup all over his brand new gloves. Will Clark had hit a home run. But the best part of the day was the way his dad had lifted him up into his arms to watch as everyone cheered.

If it was sunny out, sometimes his mom would bring him to work to visit the horses. The powerful animals had always calmed at his touch when even the most experienced rangers didn't succeed. His mother had smiled as her coworkers praised him. He took their offers of candy whenever she turned away.

High school had been a breeze for him. He wasn't a part of the popular crowd, but he had his friends from the newspaper and his teammates on the baseball team. He'd had an average to difficult course load, finishing with a GPA high enough to go to a UC. As his classmates worked on their essays and applications, he knew his route would be a different one.

His parents had been concerned but supportive when he joined the Army. They'd always sent the best care packages when he was in Iraq. His mom's homemade granola bars always disappeared quickly once the other men in his unit got a look at them.

When the other men had gone to church service, he had spent the time on his bunk with the Kindle edition of his so-called "family history." Sure the stories of fallen angels, trapped on Earth between the two kingdoms fighting for control of the world, seemed a little silly if he thought about it too much. But it wasn't much stranger than a guy in a garden marrying a piece of his ribcage.

His parents had never called themselves "fairies." At least, not around him. They hadn't wanted him to confuse their believed warrior origin in the angels with the commercialized sparkling winged pixies little girls had stuck all over their folders. The changing world views of their kind had led to many spirited conversations over family meals.

He wasn't sure if the values he had been taught growing up were specific to his parents or more overarching to his entire people. He had never known anyone with supernatural qualities outside of his family. But every bedtime story his mom had told him had emphasized the importance of protecting the Earth and those who lived there. It was up to him to carve out his own little place in the world and protect it with all he had.

"How will I know where home is?" he'd asked.

"One day a place will just draw you in. But it's the people who draw you in that will tell you you're home," his mother answered, giving his father a smile where he stood in the doorway.

Those stories had haunted him on sleepless nights in a hospital bed when his unit's luck had finally run out.

***

It all happened so fast. That's what he would say during the investigation. He would say that over and over when they asked about his dead comrades. At the end they would placate him with a hand on his forearm and move on to the next interview.

They were on a routine patrol to check for any traps that had been set up during the night. Parrish didn't tell them about the guys in the rear who were trading barbs about football when they should have been observing the abandoned buildings surrounding them. He didn't tell them about the wary feeling in his gut that kept him silent. A glint of sunlight off a Cold War era grenade launcher was their only warning before the explosion. The shout of warning was just reaching his throat when he was thrown to the ground.

The burns on his back didn't hurt like he thought they would. On television people were always screaming bloody murder in these situations. The ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing if any of his friends were shouting. The sand and grit were making his eyes burn as a miniature dust storm flurried around him.

Someone grabbed his arm and tugged. That's when the pain jolted through him so suddenly it knocked him unconscious.

The memories of the first week consisted only of blurred lights and whispers. The facts of it were all in the medical file he never read. He didn't need a piece of paper to tell him why the scars on his back tugged whenever he moved. The ability to walk down a street without assessing potential threats was gone forever. Doctors assured him he just needed time, but he had seen the haunted looks in the eyes of veterans on the streets of San Francisco. He knew better.

One therapist had told him it would get better once he accepted that he had changed forever. "You don't have to let it control you," she'd said. She pushed him to open up. She wanted him to talk to people with similar experiences.

But there wasn't anyone he could truly open up to about the fear that clung to him. Six of his friends had entered the hospital with him. He was the only one to check out. He never even met the man who pulled him to safety. They said Camden Lahey was taken out by a sniper the day before Parrish was released.

Returning home after had been a punch to the gut. He'd cleaned his childhood home of the dust and cobwebs, packing up the Christmas decorations his parents had been sorting through before they were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. They'd been found on the shore of the Bay while he'd been recovering from his second round of skin grafts. They were supposed to visit him a week later. Instead they'd been gunned down by a lone hunter using silver bullets with a fleur-de-lis carved on the side.

All the local hunters denied responsibility. They spoke at length about the code and made empty promises of justice.

Parrish was well acquainted with death long before he'd ever heard of Beacon Hills.

***

There was never much for him to do in the short time he worked for the SFPD. His veteran status had gotten him in the door despite the hiring freeze, but he spent most of his time buried in paperwork or corralling people into the drunk tank. He made arrests every so often on patrol and began gaining praise without much effort.

His training officer, an older man nearing retirement with five children to put through college, dragged him to the Olive Garden at Stonestown one day in the middle of their shift. He was also a veteran. He was the person Parrish had finally been able to open up to about Iraq. He wasn't all better, but he was functioning.

Parrish looked down at the crumpled up paper that was passed to him across the table.

"You have mine and the Sergeant's recommendation if you want it," he'd said as Parrish read over the job application.

His heart leapt into his throat when he read the name "Beacon Hills." It was a small town he'd never heard of up towards Sacramento, but it claimed to have plenty of room for quick advancement. A quick Google search had his partner frowning at the high mortality rate. But it hadn't stopped Parrish from eagerly filling out the form.

It wasn't until he was settling into his new downtown apartment that the tugging on his heart eased.

***

His first encounter with Stiles Stilinski was strange, but in a normal way. It was mostly frenetic hand waving as Parrish continued to eat a bacon burger at his desk while the Sheriff frowned at his own chicken sandwich and veggie sticks.

Stiles stole some of Parrish's curly fries with one hand before rushing off.

"What just happened?" Parrish asked.

The Sheriff just shrugged.

***

Stiles spent the next couple days grilling Parrish on his life story. He stayed honest about his childhood, glossed over his time overseas, and flat out refused to give his first name.

"It's embarrassing," he said. "Everyone calls me Parrish anyway. You don't really have first names in baseball or the army."

Next thing he knew he was caught up in an argument via text with Scott McCall over which stats should be included in a real fantasy baseball league. After an hour or so the Sheriff shooed his son off with some half-hearted grumbling about Econ homework.

Parrish's days settled into a routine after that. He would go for a run as the sun was still rising and the air was still cool. He was the first to arrive at work with a breakfast platter from the diner, off of which the Sheriff usually stole a strip of bacon. He spent the morning on paperwork and the afternoon on patrol. He settled back at his desk with some old case files, waiting until Stiles drifted in with his latest teen turmoil. Sometimes he joined the Stilinskis for dinner, but usually he headed home to try whichever latest Food Network recipe his aunt had sent him. Then he watched the ballgame or some inaccurate network crime drama before going to bed.

He tried to be friendly with his fellow officers, but most of them were there for the short term before moving on to a safer city like Los Angeles. After the sixth transfer he accepted his cordial but professional relationship with his coworkers. If he thought on it too long, it was pretty embarrassing that the people he was closest to in town were his boss and his boss' teenage son.

***

He first met Scott McCall when the young werewolf was helping Stiles attach a sign to Parrish's desk reading "Beacon Hills Sheriff Station. Leave your first name at the door." Neither boy seemed to care that Parrish was sitting as his desk the entire time. Parrish tried to ignore the gold flashes he caught in the boy's eyes.

After Stiles ran off to find more tape, it took less than two minutes for the conversation to turn to Allison Argent.

"You know, I dated more than one person in high school. Not at the same time. But back to back. Well, I took a break in between of course. What I'm trying to say is it might feel like the end of the world, but it's not."

Scott frowned. "You sound like my mom."

"But she's your mom. I'm the ruggedly handsome deputy you hardly know. You should totally be taking my advice to heart."

They were still laughing when Stiles returned, and neither of them got invited for milkshakes later for refusing to let him in on the joke.

***

Feuding werewolves shouldn't be any of Parrish's concern, but that didn't stop him from being an invisible helper. He wished by this point Stiles thought better of him than to think he would leave the blueprints for a bank vault out in the open.

One afternoon found him hanging around the high school for a bit after dropping Stiles at the bus for his cross country trip. The kid hadn't wanted to leave his jeep in the parking lot over the weekend and had lured Parrish away from his desk with a bag of Cheetos. 

Jennifer Blake approached him with a innocent smile as he read over the school bulletin.

"Deputy! I don't think we've met yet." She seemed friendly enough at the time. She had shimmered slightly in his vision, giving him glimpses of the scarred face underneath. He fought to remain upbeat as she made small talk. Even the best of them had secrets they wanted to keep.

She told him about her classes, and about how they were discussing having knowledge of oneself and knowing your place in society. He made some joke about his cousin's daughter reading _Divergent_ , but he still felt like he was being studied.

Reaching for the spark of magic that he kept buried most of the time proved unnecessary as she began to walk away.

"You're a hard man to peg, Deputy. You should feel lucky," she tossed back over her shoulder.

The next time he saw her she was slumped against a tree stump with her throat clawed open. All the members of the Alpha Pack were either dead or leaving town. But Stiles' eyes were tired in a way he hadn't seen before.

***

Ever since that night he had helped the Sheriff and the merry band of misfits out of the abandoned cellar, Parrish could feel the bond with the land more keenly that before. It was like the initial feeling that had drawn him to Beacon Hills had intensified, except now, instead of making him feel unsteady, it gave him a grounding and sense of purpose. He felt secure in his own being for the first time since the explosion.

The only problem was, he wasn't the only one to feel the draw.

***

It was clear to him that something was wrong with Stiles. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Contrary to what television would have people believe, being not quite human didn't mean you knew everything else about the not quite human world. It wasn't like they had a newsletter. Although his family did have an e-mail chain.

There was just something about the way he moved. Whereas before Stiles had moved as though his body couldn't keep up with all the energy he contained, he was moving more deliberately. It was like he was weaving through a world he couldn't trust to support him with each step.

"You ready Stiles?"

"What?"

Parrish gathered up his jacket as Stiles continued to watch him from the nearby bench. He seemed careful not to stand too close to Parrish the past few weeks. He never looked him in the eyes.

" _Real Steel_. Remember? Wolverine playing giant Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. Then greasy diner food."

"I don't think so." With a short head tilt, Stiles' face buzzed in his vision. Parrish blinked and the world resettled.

"It was your idea. You wouldn't stop texting me until I said yes."

"Don't you have anything better to do than hang out with the boss' kid?"

"No, but thanks for reminding me about my lack of a social life."

Stiles rolled his eyes, leaving Parrish behind without even a glance of disdain. He didn't have any interaction Stiles for the next few days. He even saw the kid turn around and duck into alleyways if he saw Parrish approaching. The avoidance was becoming so extreme he considered approaching the Sheriff about it, but then Scott and his friend rushed in and everything changed.

***

It took a lot of willpower not to interrupt as Sheriff Stilinski had his top secret meeting with the teenage werewolves. But he had gotten the information on the Jeep and had no choice but to push open the closed door and make his presence known. He caught the tail end of what he thought was the Sheriff asking if Scott could track Stiles by scent.

He had the feeling Scott would end up getting his wires crossed if Stiles' trail led him anywhere near Kira Yukimura.

Frustration bubbled up inside him when he got saddled with manning the phones as everyone else rushed off. But he'd let the werewolves think they were the only game in town for this long and Beacon Hills was still standing. It was up to him to protect this place that was beginning to feel more and more like home, but when it came to missing persons cases he had to stay within the confines of his job. That meant doing what the Sheriff said even if Parrish knew he could get the job done quicker and faster.

That didn't stop him from taking his pent up aggression out on Not So Special Agent McCall. He had spent too much time on those drawings to not snark at the man.

***

"I'm certified HDT. Two years in the army." Parrish tugged off his jacket, opening the back of the car despite the Sheriff's protests. "I can at least find out if this thing's real."

Pulling on the protective gear felt comforting. This was familiar to him. This was something he was good at that was completely independent of his heritage. He knew what he was doing. Even after everything that had happened in Iraq, he had never lost faith in the belief that he was good at his job.

With one last nod from the Sheriff, Parrish took a deep breath and entered the school bus. He could see Scott watching worriedly in the throng of students, Stiles standing next to him with a blink and you'd miss it smirk. It did nothing to ease the adrenaline surging through his veins.

He recalled everything every training instructor had ever told him. He kept talking to Jared, keeping his focus off the potential explosive device in his lap. He cut the ribbon carefully before tipping back the lid. He was confused by what he saw inside.

The Sheriff's face shifted to fear when Parrish pressed the nameplate up against the front windshield. Then there was a lot of shouting over the radio and they were racing down the streets with sirens blaring from all around.

***

The werewolves were nearby, but Parrish knew Scott would never go along with letting the twins kill innocent people. So he did what he was trained to do. He pulled his gun as he assessed the situation.

He wasn't as prepared as he wished he had been for another werewolf he had never seen before to burst out of the truck. It felt like he was trying to bash Parrish's head in.

Later Scott McCall had no idea why Parrish, clutching his head, forced him to sort through all the mail that had arrived since the Sheriff left for LA. The headache faded around the same time Scott got his fifth paper cut.

***

"Sheriff, I'm not kidding. This thing's a few watts from being a lightsaber."

Parrish fought the urge to tug the weapon back after handing over to the Sheriff. Chris Argent looked slightly annoyed by the whole ordeal, but Derek Hale looked one hundred percent completely done. Parrish knew the feeling.

This was his first interaction with the hunter and the former Alpha. He caught a glimpse of bright blue in Derek's eyes but only a worn out sadness in Argent's.

Argent reminded him of an old drill sergeant he'd had back before Iraq. The man had been harsh to the extreme. He'd rarely spoken in anything approaching an inside voice. He'd run them into the ground no matter the weather. Not once had he let up in their training. But somehow, on a particularly rough day, a few pizzas would appear at their table in the mess hall.

Derek frowned when he realized he was being studied, but Parrish didn't even blink. Derek Hale didn't scare him. He already knew Hale's secret. He knew how much the beta cared about his new chosen family. The big bad wolf had been replaced by the big brother. 

The thing was, Parrish had grown to care for some of the same people. Derek Hale was no threat to him as long as he wasn't a threat to Derek. Chris Argent might have a hunter's code to follow, but Derek was following the morals laid out for him by a caring mother. Parrish knew without a doubt which set of laws inspired more allegiance.

He gave Derek a teasing wave as the other man walked out the door, earning a small smile and a head shake in response.

Sheriff Stilinski gave him a rap to the back of the head. It was the biggest smile he'd seen on his boss' face in weeks.

***

This story being spun was consistent, but Parrish was pretty sure even to most inexperienced rookie cop would see right through it. It was too consistent. Everyone had been told a story and they were sticking to it. They were even using the same adjectives and pauses for breath.

But he went along with it. He pushed a little when he needed to and backed off when the kids needed a break just to make it seem more like he believed them.

"It just happened so fast."

Isaac's voice broke on the first honest thing he had said all day. The kid was falling apart in front of his eyes and no one was making an effort to hold him together.

Parrish wanted to pull him aside. He wanted to tell him that it wasn't ok, but life would keep moving on. Other good things would come to make the hurt feel a little more manageable. He wanted to thank him because he had never gotten to thank his brother.

Instead he continued taking notes.

***

Around him his fellow officers were falling to the ground. The lucky ones were whole when they collapsed. The others were getting hacked just enough to make Parrish's stomach rebel.

His bullets were having no impact. They seemed unstoppable as they brought destruction on the bullpen. Why hadn't his mother ever told him ninja ghost assassins were a possibility?

A short pause was all he had as one turned to face him. His grip was steady, but he would be lying if he didn't say his heart had started racing just a little bit. All his training, both in the Army and under the watchful eye of his Uncle Carson, had been meant to prepare him for situations like these. The Army had taught him how to fight and think on his feet. His uncle had taught him to focus on things other people couldn't see and how to channel the spark he had inherited from his parents.

So he planted his feet. The entire time he had lived in Beacon Hills, he had kept everything that made him the smallest bit supernatural hidden from those around him. That was especially true concerning this he cared about. Humans often underestimated how much they could accomplish through sheer determination. But that wasn't the case here. His magic sparkled to life inside him as he prepared to press forward and snatch the firefly he kept catching glimpses of beneath black robes.

Then he was stumbling to the side as the Sheriff shouted. He saw the other man get slashed across the forearm. Letting his military instincts retake control, he tugged the Sheriff back. He kept firing until the slick sudden pain in his abdomen knocked him to the ground.

While the blood loss made everything a little hazy around the edges, his mind was still focused. With every sharp tug of pain he reassured himself that he wasn't going to hide anymore. Not when secretly helping on the sidelines wasn't enough to keep the city from falling apart.

He couldn't believe he had ever thought it was a good idea to leave all their fates in the hands of Scott McCall.

***

Everything seemed to be slowly getting back to normal. At least as normal as things got in Beacon Hills. Parrish was stuck on desk duty until he could walk across a room without grabbing his side and wincing.

He hated everything about being stuck at his desk. There was a seemingly never ending pile of paperwork that was constantly being added to by the few officers currently allowed out on patrol. The phone calls he got were mostly accidental pocket dials or kids trying to turn their siblings in for not sharing.

But then one Saturday afternoon Stiles sat across from him with a sheepish grin, putting an oversized serving of curly fries and a pair of chocolate shakes on his desk. Parrish smiled back and that was that.

The rest of the day was spent plowing through paperwork while Stiles updated him on everything the Internet had to say about the upcoming _Avengers_ movie. Stiles' eyes were tired, but the spark was back. He was speaking with his hands again too. But Parrish recognized the diminished emotions and the way Stiles' attention seemed to drift internally in the middle of conversations. Parrish had been there, but he wouldn't push until Stiles' was ready.

Every so often, Parrish caught the Sheriff watching them fondly before pretending he wasn't paying attention at all. But he was pretty sure he knew where the pair of movie passes waiting the next day on his desk had come from.

***

The bright beta blue of Derek Hale's eyes in the sunlight distracted him as he juggled his four bags of groceries. It wasn't until Hale arched an eyebrow and reached for one of the bags that Parrish realized he had been staring.

"Looks like you could use some help," Hale said, softer than Parrish had ever heard him. But, then again, this was the first time they were interacting when Hale wasn't in police custody.

"Thanks."

Parrish let his bags tumble into the backseat of his dad's old Chevy. Derek placed his bags alongside more carefully.

"I heard you got stuck driving Scott and Stiles to the City."

"Yeah." Parrish frowned. "The Sheriff was supposed to take them, but he has to go to a conference in Phoenix. He was kind enough to point out I had some extra vacation days left."

Derek laughed. "Do you even know what they're doing?"

"I'm dropping them off at the Asian Art Museum, then I'm supposed to entertain myself until dinner time and not ask questions. They cleared it with the Sheriff, so I don't think I want to get involved in whatever scheme they've come up with."

"That's probably a good plan."

They stood there silently for just long enough for it to start getting awkward.

"You should come," Parrish blurted out. There went that eyebrow again. It took considerable willpower for him not to smack himself in the forehead. "I mean, I could use the company while they're doing whatever they're doing. Otherwise I could end up doing something stupid like stopping by my old precinct or calling an ex."

"Would I even be a better option?" Derek teased. Parrish didn't know Derek Hale was capable of teasing.

"Yeah, it'll be fun."

"Ok. I'll meet you at the Stilinskis' Saturday morning."

Derek left with an awkward wave. He didn't even say goodbye as Parrish stood frozen in the open car door. He made a mental note to remove all the One Direction songs Stiles had put on his iPhone.

***

Wobbling on a step stool trying to pull a bullet from the wall was not in any of the scenarios Parrish had imagined for his first visit to Derek's loft. He hadn't even really accepted yet that he was imaging scenarios where he was in Derek's loft. They'd only hung out a handful of times since that trip to San Francisco. It had been fun watching Scott and Stiles watch them warily from the backseat for the entire drive.

The Sheriff appeared suddenly to steady him as he gave the bullet another sharp tug. The one downside of the FBI leaving was they were again left without a forensics team of their own. They were stuck with just having the reporting officer collect evidence and send it to a lab a few hours away. Maybe that was part of the reason they had so many unsolved crimes. That and the werewolves.

When he showed the sheriff the silver bullet with a fleur-de-lis in the side, he had to reach out for support as the vertigo overwhelmed him. The Sheriff settled him on the step stool. He left a steadying hand between his shoulder blades. Then the words started to tumble out one after another.

He told the Sheriff about his parents. They had been caught by surprise in their own home before they could summon up their magic to protect them. The hunter had used the same bullets before dumping them on the beach like garbage. He told the Sheriff about his heritage, gathering sparks in his fingers like he did to amuse his cousin's kids. The Sheriff didn't even seem surprised.

"Whenever I think I have the game figured out, it turns out I didn't see all the pieces."

Parrish didn't know what his boss was talking about, but at least he didn't seem upset.

The Sheriff looked down at him with kind eyes. His expression was the same sorrowful consolation he used when delivering bad news to civilians. "I think it's time I took you to have a talk with Chris Argent."

***

Wood splinters flew over his head as someone fired at him with a gun that would definitely be illegal back in the States. After crossing so many borders, all Parrish could remember was he was someplace south of Brazil and north of Antarctica. Everything after the meeting with Argent was a bit of a blur. He remembered accepting apologizes, reaching a tentative truce, and tearing out the door for the airport.

"What are you doing here?" Scott growled to his left. He looked the same as he always did around Parrish, but his alpha red eyes were blazing beneath the surface.

"We don't have time for this right now, but I know. And I could really use some help from an Alpha more than a seventeen year old lacrosse captain right now. So get going!"

Parrish laid down some covering fire as Scott leapt into the fray, taking down the hunters who were within reach of his claws. Peter stayed behind with his stupid smirk as Kira followed with her katana.

The hunters were skilled, but the kids were fierce. The homemade smoke bombs Lydia and Stiles had packed for Scott did their job. A few hunters rushed out the door into the fresh air. Those that remained continued to fire steadily in Parrish's direction. One yelled as Parrish took out his kneecap.

"Thinking about helping anytime soon?" Parrish grumbled to his useless companion.

"The kids have it all under control, don't you think? Besides, I think my nephew would want someone watching your back."

They didn't share another word as the battle continued, but Parrish was pretty sure Peter Hale was not someone he'd trust to have his six.

***

Just one week. That was all Parrish wanted. Just one week where he only had to worry about normal human problems. He wanted his boring old routine back from when he had let the werewolves think they were the ones in charge. Derek wasn't even recovered from his kidnapping yet. He would settle for just one afternoon nap. Instead he had blood dripping out his nose as he used his magic to restrain the wendigo that Kate Argent had somehow lured into the forest.

He had reason enough to hate her already, but she just kept adding to the list.

From his right, Stiles finally fired the flare gun into the wendigo's center mass. It let out a screech so loud it echoed in Parrish's head. He released it just as he began to feel the echoes of its burning pain. It collapsed in a heap and was still.

Stiles was staring at him with wide eyes when he finally looked up.

"There's something I need to tell you."

***

"You're a fairy?" Stiles' shouting caused more than a few heads to turn their way.

"Stiles!" his father chided.

"I mean it literally, Dad. I thought you had more faith in me than that."

Parrish just ducked down in his seat. Supernatural or not, he was beginning to think getting involved in all the high schoolers' drama was the worst mistake he had ever made. He clung to his chocolate milkshake as the Stilinskis argued over political correctness in the supernatural world.

But he could admit that the way Stiles absorbed information was impressive. He was eager to hear everything Parrish whispered across the table of the near empty diner. He took quick notes in his cheap spiral notebook in his own version of shorthand with the Sheriff looking over his shoulder.

There wasn't a lot for Parrish to say that wasn't already in the bestiary Stiles had mentioned. He broke down the difference between the Good Folk ("Fairies Dad! Fairies") like him, who could see beyond the image a person presentrd to the world and view who they really were, and banshees like some of his relatives, who could hear things others couldn't. They all had magic to some extent. Parrish's own abilities were from his mother. He could remember sitting in the backyard with her as a child as she made flower petals dance in the air around him.

He told Stiles about how his magic had always been there at his fingertips growing up. Sometimes he'd have to stay home from school because he couldn't keep it under control. The army had given him the focus needed to keep it submerged when it wasn't needed.

It felt good to finally talk to someone in this town about his people. His parents had always enjoyed answering his questions, and he felt their same exuberance as he passed the information on to Stiles. He told Stiles his childhood bedtime stories of fallen angels fighting to protect the Earth from any who would threaten it.

It was hours later as they dug into their second round of pie that Stiles smiled widely and asked if he was busy the next day. And that was how he ended up spending his Sunday afternoon letting Meredith and Lydia Skype with his cousin in Tulsa about all things Banshee while he and Stiles played a rousing game of Mouse Trap. He guessed opening up wasn't the worst decision he'd ever made.

***

His hands were slippery with blood, but he was still able to grip the gears of the trap. Stiles shouted instructions over the phone about locking the trap afterwards, and Parrish hung up once he was finished giving any productive advice. The hysterical screeching was making him even more stressed than the situation called for. The sound of the trap's teeth pulling out of Derek's flesh was almost enough to make him gag.

He wished it was the most gruesome thing he'd ever seen.

Derek leaned on his shoulders like he did when they escaped those hunters in South America, but this time he was healed before they even reached the road.

Parrish kept his arm wrapped around Derek's waist the rest of the walk.

***

"You would not believe how much stuff there is about werejaguars on the Internet. How far back does _Grimm_ go on OnDemand?"

"A couple weeks. Why?"

"I'll just download it off iTunes."

"You're not doing research by watching TV."

"Why not? They're as likely to get it right as mythluver78."

Too many night shifts in a row was beginning to catch up with Parrish. He lay his head on Stiles' desk and let him ramble on about werejaguars and kanima and stupid hunters who just wouldn't stay dead. Parrish tried not to interrupt the few times the haunted look in Stiles' eyes faded away completely.

"That's not your sweater."

It took a few moments, but eventually Parrish realized Stiles was actually talking to him now rather than at him.

"What?" Parrish looked down at the maroon sweater he was wearing, just realizing that it was a little big on him. "Huh, look at that."

"That's Derek's sweater! Oh my God are you two?" Stiles made complicated motions with his hands that Parrish wished he could unsee.

Parrish shrugged. It wasn't that he was avoiding the question, but he just didn't know the answer. They'd been hanging out a lot more, watching football on Sundays and movies during the week. Sometimes they'd make out afterwards and apparently they'd reached the point where they couldn't tell the difference between each other's clothes. Although Parrish doubted Derek wouldn't notice if he tried to put on one of Parrish's shirts.

On the bed Stiles was clapping his hands while cackling on Skype with Lydia.

"Can we get back to the undead were-whatever that's trying to kill us all?" Parrish pleaded. Being around these teenagers was apparently turning him back into one.

"Shush," Lydia's voice crackled over the speaker. "There are more important things to talk about. Like, are you in the 'in a relationship' stage or are you still stuck at 'it's complicated'?"

"I'm not talking about this with you two right now."

"It's complicated," Stiles and Lydia said simultaneously.

The window shattering as a smoke bomb crashed through wasn't the distraction Parrish had been hoping for, but he'd take it.

***

Grudgingly Parrish left the hospital. The Sheriff was there and they just needed to wait for the eye drops to start working on Stiles' bloodshot eyes. Parrish had the feeling that any nurse besides Melissa McCall would have let him go already with a pat on the back.

When he walked out the front door, Derek was waiting for him and Scott was pulling up on his bike with Kira wrapped around his back. Scott's eyes were wide when he saw the two of them together until Kira rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. She gave him a quick smile as she yanked Scott inside.

Derek gave him a tight hug before stepping aside to let him into the truck. They talked about everything except Kate Argent trying to kill him. She might have succeeded if his army training hadn't kicked in. He'd covered Stiles' face with a t-shirt and practically shoved him down the stairs. His hands had been shaking as he opened the front door, but he had forced all the dark memories of combat down in favor of getting Stiles to safety. Kate's roar had echoed from inside the house just as Stiles' was jumping into his car's passenger seat.

The nurses on call had all watched him fondly when he insisted over their phone that was fine. As usual, Derek ignored him. The dumb blockheaded werewolf had said he'd be crashing at Parrish's until everything was settled. Then he'd hung up.

Despite the admittedly light blow to his masculinity, Parrish appreciated the gesture. For the first time since his parents had died, home meant more than a few empty rooms.

***

Sometimes Parrish forgot there were crimes committed by actual humans in Beacon Hills. He tackled the man to the ground, pulling his arms back to lock the handcuffs around his wrists. Deputy Haigh trotted up behind him after all the hard work was done. Typical.

Digging through the bag of stolen cash, Parrish was surprised to see the sandwich tucked underneath. Then he saw the name "Zachary" written on the side of the bag.

"Did you seriously use your lunch bag to rob a liquor store?"

The man spat out curses as Haigh hauled him back to the cruiser. Parrish followed slowly. His muscles were still sore from the self defense training he'd been teaching Stiles and Lydia. They were learning fast, and he'd learned the hard way that Lydia was incredibly adept at knocking someone off their feet.

When he got back behind the wheel, he called dispatch and reassured Stiles that everything was ok. He could faintly hear Derek and Scott asking questions in the background. He disconnected as he saw Haigh give a dirty look, ignoring his new partner's complaints about stupid meddling kids.

***

Derek pressed his face into Parrish's neck, not even flinching at the dig of fingernails into his upper back. The pain Parrish felt shoot up his spine was brief as he forced overstimulated muscles to relax. He laughed as Derek teasingly licked a line up his neck and nuzzled his jaw.

In the recent past, Parrish would have pushed away the moment strong arms came down and caged him in. Instead he let Derek press him down into the mattress, and he was finally able to breathe.

***

Stiles munched on his pancakes at the counter while Derek and the Sheriff argued with the referee in the Niners game. Parrish ducked around Stiles' head to catch a glimpse of the replay.

"How do you do it?" Stiles whispered.

The men on the couch continued to holler at people in another part of the state who couldn't hear them, but Parrish turned his attention to the teenager with drooping shoulders who sat across from him.

"Do what?"

"Forget what happened. What you've seen. What you've done."

"You don't," Parrish answered. The expression on Stiles' face made it clear that wasn't the answer he wanted. "You can't forget it. Trying to forget will just make it worse. Trust me. The only thing to do is talk about it with people you trust. You need to keep talking about it until you can work through what happened and separate what's really bothering you from all the other stuff. What happened was not your fault Stiles. You know that, but you need to believe it. Then you'll be able to cope with it. It was always be a part of you, but you'll be able to live with it."

By the end of his speech, Stiles was nodding with a weak smile on his face. Parrish reached out to grip his shoulder.

"I'm here to talk if you need me."

Parrish met Derek's eyes, catching him eavesdropping over the back of the couch. They had all been through too much far too young. But that was what made their little growing family work. He remembered his Army appointed psychologist pushing him too seek out those with shared experiences. He doubted this was what she had in mind, but as he got back to the stove and listened to Stiles join his father in good natured ribbing he knew this was what she had meant.

***

On the phone Stiles whispered enthusiastically enough that Parrish reminded him to keep quiet. Haigh gave him a dirty look across the bullpen, so Parrish ducked into the Sheriff's office and shut the door behind him. Sheriff Stilinski questioned him with a look until Parrish put the phone on speaker.

"They're back. The guys who took Derek. I'm serious. I'm watching them buy trail mix and Red Bull."

"Don't do anything stupid," the Sheriff ordered, the resignation in his voice betraying that he already knew that wasn't a possibility.

"I'm going to follow them. Track my phone." Then he was gone.

***

Running through the forest gave him flashbacks of basic training, except there the worst that could happen was being assigned a couple hundred extra push-ups. Out here he could die. Or worse, he could get someone killed.

He used his magic to send an oversized rock tumbling behind him. There was a yelp as it hit its mark.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear Derek's howl. Scott's growling came from somewhere closer. He kept a tight grip on Lydia's hand as he ran deeper into the forest as fast as she could follow him. He didn't realize his mistake until they both tripped into the small clearing with a puff of dust.

Reaching back for her was futile. The trip wire was tangled around her feet, tight enough to keep her in place but loose enough not to cause much damage. Four hunters emerged from the trees in front of them and Parrish had no choice but to fight. He just needed to keep them occupied until help arrived.

He reached out, trying to summon flames to the dry leaves scattered around one hunter's feet. But nothing happened. He tried to pull the club from another hunter's grip, and again nothing happened.

"What's wrong little fairy? Can't get it up?"

When he looked down at the dust gathered on his feet he realized the problem. His father had warned him about iron.

As the hunters came at him, and Lydia let loose the most soul piercing scream he had ever heard, he dug down for something else hidden away with his magic. Hand to hand combat wasn't something he had spent a lot of time focusing on during his training, but he had taken down his instructor in under three minutes.

Within seconds he had relieved the one hunter of both his wooden club and his consciousness. He swung hard and connected with the cheekbone of another. Two down and two to go, and he hadn't even broken a sweat.

One man, the leader, took a step back. The other man stood over a head above Parrish and made a show of cracking his knuckles. Lydia scoffed behind him.

Ducking down, Parrish charged shoulder first into the man's stomach. They both tumbled to the ground. It wasn't a clean fight by any means. Parrish took an elbow to the jaw that stunned him, but he fired back with a sharp knee to the groin. He locked his legs around the man's hips as he wrapped his arms around his neck from behind. He held tight until there was no more movement. Then he held on longer.

He rose triumphantly, ready to take on the final challenger when a sharp pain unlike any he had ever felt knocked him to the ground. All he knew was Lydia was screaming and he hoped it wasn't for him.

***

The blade was wedged deep into the flesh beneath the right side of his clavicle. He struggled to breathe. He could hear the crunching of the leaves as his legs writhed slowly in pain. The ground beneath his back was wet. It took him a moment to realize it was wet with his own blood.

There were soft hands at his neck. When he forced his eyes open he saw Kira haloed in her aura above him. He smiled at her, but it was too hard to keep his eyes open. He could hear the struggle going on just behind him. The scream and crunch of bone that followed weren't much of a surprise.

A rough familiar hand gripped his left forearm. He could feel hands fluttering around his wound, unsure of what to do. He let Derek and Stiles argue above him, but he passed out when Kira took matters into her own hands and ripped the blade from him. 

***

When he awoke again he was in the backseat of Kira's mom's car with his head cradled in Derek's lap. He groaned as Derek pressed tighter on the towel placed above his bleeding chest.

"It's the first friggin rule of first aid Kira! When someone gets stabbed you don't pull it out! It's what keeps them from bleeding everywhere!"

"This wasn't exactly a normal situation Stiles!" she forced his name out sharply through clenched teeth. Parrish could feel her annoyance down in his bones. "The blade was iron. It's poison to him. If he touches it he can't access his abilities. If it's being applied directly to his bloodstream it could kill him. If we left it he would be dead way before he would bleed out."

"You know guys, I'm right here. Still alive by the way," Parrish muttered weakly. He wasn't even sure the words came out right, because the two kids continued to argue obliviously in the front seats. But Derek touched him gently on the left side of his neck as he slipped under again.

***

"You don't get to leave me. You understand? Don't you dare die on me."

***

Bright lights burning through his eyelids were the first thing he was aware of as he slowly emerged from sleep. The haze dulling his senses told him he was on the good stuff.

The next thing he was aware of was Derek's hand on the inside of his forearm with two fingers placed lightly over his pulse.

"Hey."

Parrish turned his head. He was too tired to move anything else. The Sheriff sat in a chair pulled close to the bed. Scott and Stiles were sleeping awkwardly together on a too small love seat that had been dragged into the corner of the room. He could just barely hear Kira and Lydia talking quietly in the hallway.

"You gave us quite a scare there, deputy." Sheriff Stilinski spoke quietly, but it was enough to send Derek bolting upright in his chair. Parrish turned back to face him, an eyebrow raised in a perfect imitation of a Hale.

The Sheriff gave him a light squeeze on the shoulder as he made his exit. The only sounds left were deep rumbling snores and the beeping of machines.

Derek didn't offer any verbose declarations of love or give a grand speech about realizing just how much Parrish meant to him. Instead he smiled and placed a lingering gentle kiss on Parrish's forehead. The serenity of the moment had him drifting back towards sleep.

"You'll be here?" Parrish whispered.

"Always."

***

Stiles, with a lot of help from Melissa McCall, hustled Parrish out of the hospital before the doctors could run any more tests that would confuse more than help. What Parrish needed was rest. Lots and lots of rest. He could get more of that at home in his own bed than at the hospital.

"Tell you what. I promise not to go wandering in the woods at night by myself ever again if you promise not to ever almost die in the back of a car I'm driving. Deal?"

"Deal. I'll make sure to get in the passenger's seat."

"You're not funny at all. You know that? Not at all." But Stiles was smiling as he spoke.

The car wasn't really quiet as they drove across town. Stiles drummed along to the radio on the steering wheel, mumbling incorrect lyrics under his breath. It was comforting. He must have spaced out at some point, because the next thing he knew Derek was opening Parrish's apartment door with a frown on his face.

"Oh no. You do not get to frown at me. I just dragged your boyfriend across town and up four floors while you fluffed up pillows."

Derek visibly bristled, but didn't argue as they transferred Parrish's weight from Stiles' shoulders to Derek's. The two exchanged hushed whispers laced with sarcasm Parrish couldn't be bothered to listen to. But eventually Stiles gave him a hug and ran off, hastily wiping at his nose.

They made their way slowly through the living area. Parrish focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He'd rather sleep on the floor where he stood than have Derek carry him to bed.

It took time, but Parrish crawled under his gloriously warm sheets. It took some light tugging to force Derek to follow. He didn't seem all that upset about it. They settled against each other, filling all the jagged empty spaces. Derek wrapped his right arm around Parrish's torso to settle a hand over his steadily beating heart. He drew Parrish in tightly against him.

A feeling of what Parrish could only describe as rightness swept through him. He didn't regret coming to Beacon Hills. Not for a second. He finally understood what his mom had said all those years ago while tucking him into bed at night.

He was home.


End file.
